Corners

I work with the most generous server. Her heart is just… BIG. Full of giving. A true servant, through and through. The problem is this – my friend’s heart is so long and deep and wide that she feels compelled to help… everyone. Need $20? Need $2,000? Again, beautiful quality to possess; however, it also leaves her poor… somewhat frustrated… and ironically unable to pay her own rent. She has these people in her life [like me] who say to her, “You can’t save the world.” It’s true, right? I mean, look at all the pain and poverty and hardship in the world. You can’t fix it all. You can’t bear the weight of the world on your shoulders. So… what do you do?

Once upon a time, I had a ‘Messiah complex’. It’s this very common disorder in which you believe you can heal the masses. Yes, like Jesus. The Messiah. This disease is quite prevalent, especially amongst those in ‘helping’ professions i.e. teachers, mothers, fathers, plumbers, social workers, waitresses, ministers…

This girl I know used to work at this church. From the beginning, she wanted to meet everyone’s needs. All 250 church members’ needs. She was a helper… with a complex. After only a few months of being there, she began to feel very, hmm should we say, overwhelmed? She would make lists of people to call, people to visit, people who ‘needed’ her. Her lists grew… and grew… and grew. She had very poor boundaries. 

One day this very cool/fun/journal-making friend on the phone said something that changed her whole perspective. “You’re taking on way too much. I think Jesus himself even kinda focused on twelve!” And that’s when it clicked for me, ahem, I mean ‘this girl’. I had been trying to invest myself into the lives of 238 more people than Jesus did! Yeah… I had a complex.

There’s this fantastic story in the bible about this man who is paralyzed. [Doesn’t sound great so far but I promise it gets better.] At the same time that this man is paralyzed, there is this other man walking from town to town healing people! [His name is Jesus… if you didn’t see that coming.] Well, obviously, this man wants to get to Jesus cuz he wants to be healed! Problem is, Jesus is total paparazzi-candy. He is surrounded at all times by a gazillion [another term for ‘lots’] of hurt, bleeding, broken, disease-stricken people. This guy can’t walk, much less stand/push/wade through a crowd. So… he gives up… ha, totally kidding. What a bummer of a story that would be, right?! No, this guy who lived a few thousand years ago had something most of us would die for and/or take for granted. Four friends. Four friends and a mat. With four corners. So these four friends, maybe they take the day off work or skip out on lunch that day. They devise this plan to lower their friend through the roof, basically right on top of Jesus’ head. And Jesus heals their friend, while they each hold a corner.

Four friends. Carrying the four corners of a mat. I don’t care who you are, that’s powerful stuff. That guy, he could count his closest friends on one hand… and look where it got him! Healed. We’re not made to have a gazillion superficial relationships. Seriously, Facebook is awesome, but let’s be honest – the majority of you seven hundred and something are my acquaintances at best. Aside from the occasional fbook stalking, you don’t invest in me, and I don’t invest in you. And you know what? That’s okay. We’re not wired to invest in everyone. That would just wear us out! We are wired, even Jesus, to have a close-knit circle of friends, friends that will hold our mats when the time comes.

You can’t save the world. And, though we all struggle with the complex, I can tell you with the utmost certainty that you are not the Messiah. If this really bums you out, if this makes you feel as if your actions are useless and futile in this world then just remember that paralyzed guy. To some people, picking up a corner wouldn’t seem like a lot - menial work really – and yet, it led that guy to Jesus! How sacred, how significant, how life-giving was the mere act of holding a corner of a mat!

Nobody can help everybody, so give yourself some grace. Realize that you are not called to help everybody, but you are called to help somebody. Chances are, it’s probably somebody right in front of you. Who matters to you? Who do you invest in? Who needs you to pick up a corner? God has entrusted certain people to you for a reason. Do what you can with what you have.

May you be a person known for carrying the mats of others. Not 250. Just a few… and they will make all the difference.

And to my dearest, closest, most beloved, fabulous corner-carriers [you know who you are], I’ve got your mat. ;)

Two Words

My brothers are a lot older than me. Eleven years. Eight years. Because of this fact, learning to play by myself was a necessity in my childhood. What can I say? I talked to a lot of imaginary people. Very frequently, however, amongst the hundreds upon thousands of art supplies, movies, and Barbie clothes, I would find myself uttering two words. These two words would strike instant rage into the eyes of my mother. To my mother, these two words triggered more exasperation and displeasure than all four-letter words combined. These two words were banned in my home; and, to this day, I cannot speak these two words without feeling the cringe of my mother’s face deep within my heart. “I’m bored.”… … “How can you be bored?!” she would say. Instant rage.

These two incredibly sagacious guys [‘sagacious’ means ‘intelligent’… excuse me, I just took the GRE], one who teaches at Duke and one who is equally as cool but I don’t know where he teaches, wrote this book awhile back about the Christian life. What do Christians look like? What do our churches look like? What should they look like? You ever sat in a church pew and rehearsed every item on your grocery/work/personal/weekly to-do list? Did that hour in the pew ever seem like four… or five? These two smart guys, in their book, wrote something that made me cringe deep within my heart. They said, “[Christians] shall die, not from crucifixion, but from sheer boredom.” So I ask...

Is Christianity boring?... I thought about asking, “Is Jesus boring?” but then I thought about him and his life and the stories we have, and Jesus is without a doubt NOT boring. He’s wild and crazy and radical and funny! The problem is, maybe no one sees that. Maybe we listen to Jesus’ words and hear nothing but a 98-year-old preacher’s voice on an uneventful Sunday morning, sitting in a hard wooden pew with unbelievably thin cushions. I guess we could blame this on the ministers, the preachers, who don’t tend to project a personality onto the bible when they teach it. An absolute shame, huh?

Long ago, people died. People always died. There was this valley, in fact, filled with their bones. Dry bones, really dead bones. The Lord God came to this prophet named Ezekiel and told him to speak to the bones [way weirder than speaking to imaginary people, btw]. When he did, guess what happened? They came ALIVE! That's right. These brittle, useless, lifeless bones grew flesh. [which is gross to imagine but miraculous nonetheless] All of a sudden they were transformed – living and breathing, with purpose. They were dead, really dead, and then they were alive. God just made them alive... again.

All that is to say…

WAKE UP, PEOPLE!!!

Following Jesus is meant to make you come ALIVE! MORE alive, in fact, than people who don't at all follow him - cuz God breathed into you TWICE!! Once to live and once more to LIVE! [See John 20… “And Jesus breathed on them…” See? Meaningful and yet bizarrely awkward and funny.]

We are part of something huge, this underground revolution of change and love and acceptance and justice and peace and grace; you are alive in order to set right the broken things. You are alive to remind the world of what was forgotten in that garden – that we don’t have to hide anymore, that God is all we need.

You are alive to give the world what it doesn’t know it needs the most [read that again, cuz it confused even me and I’m the one who wrote it].

Jesus is not boring, and following Jesus… wow, yeah, that’s not boring either. I hesitate saying this but if you are bored... maybe you’re doin’ it wrong. I mean, it’s not like there’s a lacking of stuff to be done here – lives to help, pain to mend, families to reconcile. Seriously, it's not like we've run out of things to do.

I want you to have a wild life, an adventurous one. A life that takes risks and jumps out of boxes and defies norms. That’s the kinda life Jesus had – and we’re called to follow him. So follow him… and may you walk in his wild and crazy footsteps. Wherever they lead you.

The Underwoods

One of my favorite people died yesterday. He was tenderhearted and generous and authentic. He had this great laugh. He was a reader. He loved the Church. He loved his family. He loved God. His name was John. He was married to one of my other favorite people. She was kind and gentle and just as generous. When she talked to you she made you feel important. She was intelligent and classy, equally filled with love. She died a year ago, after being brave and courageous and joyful in the midst of countless cancer treatments. She was a beautiful woman. Her name was Liz. I usually ‘fake name’ the people I write about, but not this time. This time, I want you to know their names.

There was this woman long ago from a city called Shunem. She was a Shunammite, you could say. We don’t know her name. Someone simply wrote about her because of her kindness. Elisha, this prophet of the LORD God, would pass by her door every so often on his travels to and fro; and when he would, she would feed him… give him a place to stay for the night. That’s all. No biggie. Just some dinner and a pillow. Anybody could’ve done it… but did they? Funny how something so simple could make it into a history book so grand…

When I started as Pastoral Resident [fancy name for an amateur minister] at a church in Virginia, I had just come out of seminary and I was full of vision and passion and life. [I hope I still have most of that by the way.] I moved into an apartment of my own and realized very quickly that the nights are lonely without roommates. I got a dog and definitely imagined his voice in my head; but alas, our inside jokes and random late-night Taco Bell runs just weren’t the same. I had been in that small town a month when Liz and John called. “Just some dinner,” they said. That’s all. Nothing fancy. Salads with yummy cranberries and bleu cheese. Homemade brownies and some vanilla ice cream from the fridge. Sitting around a table, talking for hours about random world events, their grandkids, my dog, favorite books, favorite movies, and following God – always following God. I stayed in that city for two years – two years of salads with yummy cranberries. The dessert always changed. They knew I love dessert.

That’s all. Nothing fancy. I want you to know their names. John and Liz. I have added them to my history book because they were that grand.

We focus on junk that doesn’t matter. [And when I say we I’m mostly talking about followers of Jesus or ‘little Christs’ you could call us, though this statement probably applies to everyone.] This doctrine or that one. Church politics, who gets to be a deacon and what translation should the pew bibles be. How should we vote and on what should we focus our next picket line? Lots of… junk… that doesn’t truly help or support or love anybody.

This cool guy [I assume. I actually don’t know him.] named Tony Campolo [which is just a cool name] once said, “I wish Jesus would ask, ‘Virgin Birth; strongly agree, agree, disagree, strongly disagree? Check one.’ But those aren’t the questions. The questions are, ‘I was hungry, did you feed me? I was a stranger, did you make room for me?’” John and Liz got it. They were some of the best ‘little Christs’ I have ever known, and it wasn’t because we voted the same or agreed on free will versus predestination. It wasn’t because they showed up every week in their ‘Sunday best’ or took a stand for/against healthcare reform and gay rights. They were some of the best Jesus-followers I have known because I truly believe they looked like Him – loving me, and everybody else, the same way He did when he walked on the earth 2,000 years ago.

To John and Liz, you don’t know what you did for me. You were just feeding this young, amateur minister, providing her a little human companionship from most of her nights spent alone. I told you that I loved you. I told you ‘thank you’ a thousand times; and yet, I am confident that you never realized what an eternal fingerprint you left on my heart. You were my Shunammite woman. You were Jesus to me.

To those who loved John and Liz, may we cry tears of sadness that they are no longer in our presence but may we moreso cry tears of joy for having actually befriended two people who resemble that much love. There are truly angels walking among us, and now we know two of their names.

To all others, who are simply reading these words, may you recognize the Johns and the Lizs in your life. May your eyes be opened to the Shunammite women and men in your midst, for we may be entertaining angels in disguise. And may each of us take seriously the legacy, the fingerprints, we leave behind. Just some dinner. A dollar here and there. A hug. Some encouraging words. A conversation. Holy traces. Sacred moments in the mundane. 

May we resemble Him.

Pens

I have pens. A lot of pens. People laugh at my plethora of pens. If someone would give me a penny for how many pens I have used/owned in my lifetime as a server, I could perhaps buy something large and expensive - maybe nice patio furniture. My life revolves around pens. Part of the reason I go through so many pens is not because they stop working. No, not at all. In fact, I rarely see a pen to the end of its existence. Why, might you ask? Well, because people STEAL them. Hmm, steal is a harsh word. “Forget and take” is perhaps a better phrase. [Unless you’re that table that stiffed me four months ago and walked back to the table just to take my pen. You know who you are. I have forgiven you, but I have not forgotten you.]

Last Christmas, knowing my tight budget has little room for pen-buying, my mother ordered one hundred shiny metallic blue pens for my use. Best Christmas present ever. Well, that and the toilet paper I constantly take. Thanks, ‘rents. J Now, these aren’t ordinary pens. These pens have my name on them – my name AND four of my favorite biblical scripture passages. “Thou shalt not steal” is the first… ha, just kidding. That’d be funny though. This Christmas I will be asking ‘Santa’ for more pens, because everyone in my restaurant has at least one of them. I SEE them, sticking out from their pockets! They snag them from my apron, they pick them up from my tables, or I have gifted them with one at some opportune time. Just the other day the bartender said to me, “I use your pen when I’m studying at home and it died on me the other day.” Hence, she was graced with a new pen. I had a table [not mine, mind you] pull me aside the other day and say, “We’ve heard about you. Are you the girl with the pens?” Hence, they also received a pen. It’s comical, really. I mean, these are GOOD pens! They write awesome!

A few months ago this sheriff from a neighboring county came in to eat. He gave me his credit card and I returned it with his slip and, of course, one of my pens. He then proceeded to show me his business card. “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me”, it said on the back. We traded. He took my pen. I took his card. And in some weird way I felt more connected to a greater purpose – like we are all in some way trying to make the world better in any way we can.

Long ago there was this random woman on Oprah. I don’t remember what she did or why she was there, but I do remember that she said this: “We never touch people so lightly that we do not leave a trace.” How about that? We all leave our mark. We all have “pens” and “business cards” - yours just might be in the form of a smile, an attitude, a joke, a particular kindness or perhaps the opposite of kindness… We all have these things called fingerprints and we really do leave them wherever we go – physically, and in other ways that we will never see.

Sometimes I wonder if that table – the one that stiffed me and then rubbed it in by taking my pen – really considered how much they would affect me. Probably not, since I’m pretty sure I wasn’t a ‘person’ to them but rather a useful tool for their food consumption needs. I sound bitter about this table, but I’m really not. As a server, you can’t let that stuff get to you. If you don’t laugh about it then it very easily spreads and you begin to hate the human race. I don’t hate the human race, but I do think that the human race [me included] so easily forgets that all of our actions – good and bad – influence somebody. Your attitude on the phone with that customer service representative is going to have an affect on them – maybe they’ll be able to shrug it off by lunchtime or maybe they’ll take a bit of it home to their spouse, to their kids, and/or simply internalize it for awhile. The way you treat your neighbor, the mailman [or mailwoman], and that 16 year old cashier at Arby’s leaves a trace. It’s not her fault they put onions on your sandwich when you asked for none.. or… maybe it IS her fault. Either way, she’s a human being created in the image of God and they are just onions. Pick your battles.

What do your pens look like? What would your business card say? We all leave a trace - good or bad. Every positive and negative and slanderous and joyful and critical and hopeful thing that we say and do is a seed, influencing someone in our lives – your kids, your spouse, a friend, a coworker, a complete stranger or maybe just yourself. If you could only see your fingerprints.

May we plant seeds of joy, encouragement, and hope - rather than criticism, despair, negativity, and slander. May we be aware of our words and our actions. May we realize that leaving a trace of kindness and love is usually far more important than making our point and getting our way – and may our attitudes and the way we live our lives remind others of something, er someone, greater than themselves. Like Jesus said, “When you see me you see the Father”. When you see me, and when I see you, may we be reminded of the ultimate fingerprint God left on the world long, long ago.

Enough

I was in this discount bookstore the other day, one of those huge warehouse kinds that has all genres in no particular order spread across 78 fold-out tables. I was in what I thought to be the self-help section when my eyes came across a book entitled You’re Poor Because You Wanna Be. And I paused. Huh…

Did you know that most of the world lives on less than two dollars a day? Yeah, no joke. Out of 6 billion people, 3.5 billion [that’s over half of the world for you non-math-ers] live on less than two American dollars a day. You know what else? The average American teenager spends $150 a week. Half of the world could live on that for two months. Are you shocked? I doubt it. So, these people, these 3.5 billion… are they poor because they wanna be?

Part of the reason I desired a job that paid me a whopping $2.13/hour plus tips was because I wanted to see what it’s like. I wanted to see what it’s like to walk into a grocery store and be forced to choose – cereal or milk? Toothpaste or deodorant? You have $11 to spend today. What’ll it be? See, I grew up in a house that always had enough – more than enough. [I say this very thankfully. Please hear my heart.] When we ran out of Sprite in the fridge we walked 60 feet to the garage and got more Sprite to put into the fridge. When we ran out of bread… oh wait, we never ran out of bread. I got new clothes every school year, new shoes every spring, a television in my room, and soft toilet paper [that’s right, the expensive kind]. My family was middle to upper-middle class. We would never come close to MTV Cribs; but I never knew what it was like to lack anything – other than a Gameboy. [I always wanted a Gameboy.] I am so thankful for my parents and the opportunities I have had since birth – to get a great education, to be well-fed, to wear Abercrombie & Fitch all four years of high school. [Again, mom, I’m so apologetic. We could have gone on ten more family vacations with that money.] Please hear me, I am grateful and blessed; however… it came to my attention several years ago that I consistently take for granted my daily bread. It was then that it hit me...

Most of the world isn’t like me – or like you, perhaps. Most of the world must choose. Bread or diapers? Food or clothes? Rent or gas? Pick one, and then pray without ceasing that the other one comes through.

I sat in my restaurant months ago and watched another employee - a hard-working, reliable, and good employee – as he ordered two cups of soup for his kids. His kids are young, and of course, equally adorable. They took their oyster crackers and mushed them into their clam chowder and chicken tortilla. They were a mess by the end of it all; and when their meal was through, I watched as this hard-working, good employee poured the remainder of those soups into two plastic to-go bowls. Dinner. Please do not tell me that this hardworking dad wants to feed his kids ‘soup mush’ for dinner. Don’t tell me he’s poor because he wants to be.

I know what numerous people with enough say about the poor, homeless, and unemployed. I used to say it, too, until I lived close to it. “I’m not greedy. I simply believe in a hard work ethic. I believe that everyone has opportunities in this country to succeed, to make something of themselves.” We all hear, or say, phrases like, “He could get a job if he really wanted one. Why do we, the taxpayers, have to help feed her six kids? A family can live on minimum wage.” And many of us cling to this motto: “God helps those who help themselves”. [That’s not in the bible, by the way. It’s some phrase coined by some dead guy, maybe the same guy who said, “cleanliness is next to godliness”. In case we have forgotten, there were some pretty dirty, skanky, leprosy-covered people standing next to Jesus. Sorry, dead guy.] Truth be told, sometimes God DOES help those who help themselves… and truth be told, sometimes God helps those who can’t IN ANY WAY help themselves.

There’s this story in the bible about a guy named Job [rhymes with robe, and lobe, and the first part of Kob-e Bryant]. Job had a job [rhymes with mob] that paid off real well. He had lots of stuff, Cribs-worthy for sure. Job is a perfect example of how horrid, hellish things happen in life. Job wrote the book on “When bad things happen to good people”. Job was mindin’ his own business, livin’ his life, and disaster struck him down. Did he deserve it? No. But, nonetheless, Job quickly became one of those nappy lookin’ guys you pretend to ignore at red lights. He was stripped of everything. Family life? Gone. House? Gone. Checking account? Gone. 401K? Gone. Health insurance? Gone. Luckily [maybe] he still had these three friends who came to him and said, “What did you do wrong? You must have done something to deserve this. This bad fortune doesn’t just happen to people. You obviously haven’t lived your life right, made the right decisions. If you would just work hard enough then you could earn your place… in society.” May we all be so lucky to have these friends... But is that what we think? Is that what goes through our heads when we see poverty and homelessness and single moms struggling from day to day?

What if we just don’t understand? What if we just don’t get it? What if these situations are just foreign to us, cuz we’ve never been there, and all the while God is thinking, “Don’t judge my child. You don’t have a clue.” He/she might work way harder than you. Honestly, if we were truly going off of merit here, rather than undeserved grace, then maybe he would live in the mansion and you would be on the street. But that’s not how things work, is it? People’s wealth and possessions and position are rarely about how hard they work compared to others or how good a person they are. I mean, there are people who ‘have’ and there are people who ‘don’t’; and more often than not, there is no rhyme or reason to it at all.

Rob Bell, this great writer/preacher guy, once said, “It is a dangerous thing when we begin to think that OUR world is THE world.” So, may we seek to understand those different, and perhaps less fortunate, than ourselves. Because the reality is that, maybe through no fault of their own, people are oppressed and poor [in many ways] in this world. May we realize that the simple act of understanding and putting ourselves in their shoes is a way of freeing them from their oppression. How marvelous it is when one human being takes the time to know what another human being is going through!

May we not look down on those who buy cheap toilet paper. Seriously, it isn’t that bad. May we give everyone the benefit of the doubt, attributing to them the same positive characteristics we see in ourselves… and may we truly taste our daily bread – because it really is enough.

Dream Catcher

I psyched myself out. I got caught up in the waiting. Don’t we all? If you will notice [and as I ashamedly bring everyone’s attention to], I started this blog in March… it is now July. Roughly five months. Roughly five blog entries. … I have been waiting for what some of us might also be waiting for – passion, inspiration, motivation, dedication, and many other -tions. “I just need to get passionate. If I could only get motivated. I just need… If I could only…” and here I am five months later having spoken these same empty words time and again while staring at five blog entries. I would feel more guilty about this except for the fact that I realize it is the story of us all, and knowing that you struggle brings me comfort in a twisted kinda way. So thanks.

As kids a lot of us have these huge endeavors, these dreams that we envision as totally reachable. A little girl watches the winter Olympics and suddenly she wants to be Tonya Harding [ha, rewind. erase that.]… and suddenly she wants to be Kristi Yamaguchi and so she begs to take ice skating lessons. Soon, however, she realizes that it takes a lot of WORK to be Kristi Yamaguchi so… she slowly burns out and eventually quits. She then trades in her skates for a piano because becoming the next Mozart in female form is totally reachable and just around the corner. A boy watches Kobe Bryant and thinks, “That’s gonna be me one day”, and then he realizes that, because of those darned things called genetics, the likelihood of him even reaching 5’8” is quite unlikely.

All of us, from childhood, have these huge, awesome, fantastical dreams! Most, if not all of us, were told by somebody that we were ‘special’; therefore, we would be the generation to cure cancer, to create flying automobiles and live Jetsons-style, and reverse global warming to save the planet. We tell our children, “That could be YOU!” And that’s great and wonderful and I don’t think we should ever stop telling our children that – I mean somebody has to be the next Kristi, Mozart, and Kobe. Shoot for the stars and if you miss then you’ll still land pretty high, right? Isn’t that what they say? But this is my question… what if, since childhood, you’ve heard people say, “You’re gonna make it big. You’re gonna do great, huge, marvelous things!” and then you don’t? What happens when people have always told you that “you’re special and extraordinary” and then you realize that you’re… just… ordinary. What then? What a downer?

May I propose a thought? What if the little things you do, the things that look miniscule and unimportant and lack-luster such as letting that person at wal-mart cut in front of you in line cuz they look hurried and grumpy or smiling at the girl behind the counter at Arbys or handing a few dollars to that homeless man while you’re sitting at the traffic light instead of uncomfortably trying to make it appear as if you don’t see him three feet away, avoiding all eye contact – what if those things were actually HUGE things?! What if you believed that those little things could actually change the course of peoples’ lives!? What if all those little acts of grace or mercy or compassion or forgiveness are actually EXTRAordinary things? What if it’s those things that are slowly knitting the world back together as it should be?

We need to stop waiting for the ‘big’ things and instead be proactive in the ‘little’ ones. I’m preachin’ to myself here by the way, because I always thought I would do great, huge, majestic things such as spread Christianity through the hills of Hollywood, baptize Paris Hilton in a river somewhere, win an Oscar or at least be nominated and able to give my “Aw she deserved it” face on camera [yes, I practiced], write books for the masses, and be ushered around the world to preach and teach all the while adopting children wherever I went. People would call me the Angelina Jolie of the Baptist world. These were [ok, are] my dreams. You have them, too. Probably not the same ones... probably. ;) But you have dreams of doing great, awesome, huge things. And, honestly, it’s sorta like a death when you realize they probably won’t happen – but how life-giving a thing it was when I realized that all the little things I was doing were affecting the people around me in positive [or negative] ways far more than fame and worldly esteem ever would. Helen Keller once said, “I long to accomplish great and noble tasks, but it is my chief duty to accomplish small tasks as if they were great and noble.”

So, may we believe that God has created us to do what we can with what we have… today. May we never give up on our dreams, but may we also never wait for them at the expense of now. And may we insert ourselves into God’s massive story by loving the people around us the best we can, because the smallest, most miniscule acts do indeed change lives - and rock the heavenlies.

The Road

I have this great friend. I shall call her Shelly. She is awesome – a supportive friend and wife, incredibly loving mother, one of the hardest workers I know. Proverbs 31 comes to mind. She’s one of those people that does the right thing, ya know? When no one’s watching. She’s dependable and fun. She’s this fabulous hostess… even when all she has to work with are hot dogs. She keeps secrets – all of them. She has the best laugh I ever heard and she cries at the drop of a pin – because people matter to her. I want her heart.

I work with Shelly. She’s a server, like me. She’s a great server, totally attentive to your root beer and ranch dressing needs. One day, months ago, her son’s school teachers came in to eat and, coincidentally, they were placed in her section. I won’t forget the shame on her face… I can’t get it out of my head. “They’re my age, and they have jobs and educations and salaries. And what am I?” she said with this deep pain on her face, “I’m a waitress.” Who told her?! Who the hell told her that she is ‘less’? Less of a person? Less of a mother? Less of a success than those people? Aw yes, “success” – that purely subjective way in which we measure, and compare, ourselves with our world, our culture, our family and friends, and even our enemies perhaps since jealousy and envy don't make nice friends. “Success” just might be my least favorite word.

If we were honest with ourselves, a lot of us would admit we are indeed waiting for “success”. I mean, come on, why does the lottery exist? “When I have more money I will…” “When I get a better job I want to…” “If I looked like him/her I could…” “After college I will be…” I went to college for eight years, graduated with two four-year degrees, and I can tell you it is a rare day when I hear another two-degree graduate say “I wish I could make $2.13/hour.” Why? Cuz it’s not “successful” to the world! It’s not what you go to college for! You go to college to work up the corporate ladder, to ‘make something of yourself’, and to inevitably make more money than the average Joe [sorry Joe].

There are jobs out there, there are people out there, that are being told that they are less – not as worthy, not as important, not as valuable to society and/or to the human race. They are our trash collectors and our housekeepers and our construction workers and our prisoners and our foreigners and our strippers and our servers… and I’m pretty sure you should take a moment to think of some more. Awareness is a gift… … Is this for real? Do we really live in a world where some people are more expendable than others, or if expendable is too negative for you then should I simply say ‘less useful’? And, on top of that, is this truly, more often than not, based on green rectangular pieces of paper someone long ago attributed value to? Is it truly based on how much melanin is in shades of skin and what pieces of cloth humans choose to cover themselves with on any given day?

I have several friends, ALL of whom want nothing but good and wonderful and fulfilling things for me, that have made the comments, “You are too gifted/too called/too educated/too good at ‘church work’ to be ‘just a server’. Please here me if you have said one or all of these things, I love you and I respect you and I value what you say – but you’re wrong. No one is too gifted/too called/too educated/too good to wash the feet of others… or pick up all the half-eaten food and dirty napkins they leave behind. No one is ‘too good’ for that – in fact, in Jesus’ world, that’s what we’re supposed to aspire to! Backwards, huh?

After Jesus died, and rose from the dead and shocked the crud out of his disciples and then made them breakfast [Do you think Jesus, the Son of God, burned the toast?], Jesus had this great conversation with Peter. [John 21] “Do you love me, Peter?” And Peter’s like, “Um, yeah! You know I do!” Jesus asks him this same question three times, and when Jesus is fully convinced, or should I say when Peter is convinced, Jesus says two words. “Follow me.” Simple enough? Eh, wasn’t enough for Peter - cuz ya see Peter played the comparison/success game that we all play. “What about him? What about that guy? What is he gonna get? What does he get to do? Where does he get to go?” And Jesus, in a voice that to me sounds tender yet firm [think Morgan Freeman mixed with some Ewan McGregor] says, “Why should YOU care? His business is not your business and his road is not your road. Your job is to follow Me.” [Paraphrased by me, of course]

My resume has been circulating among the masses for roughly two and a half years. This has led to one face-to-face search committee encounter and three phone interviews – two of which ended in theological differences concerning dinosaurs and the sexual revolution. Short, yet awkward, story. What I’m saying is, I haven’t had much luck. I look around me and see ministers, male and female alike, finding wonderful positions in strong and passionate churches. These positions offer salaries and vacations and ‘professional accounts’ and health insurance! Can you imagine?! And you know what’s tempting and easy? To consider myself a reject… a failure… an unemployable female minister that isn’t gifted/called/educated/good enough to be in ‘church work’; hence, ‘just a server’. Do I know that God doesn’t look at me like that? Cuz, uh, God doesn’t look at me like that. God sees me and thinks, “Wow, when I created her, I did good!” [P.S. God thinks that about you, too.]

We all have a road – maybe your road is rich and ornate and could be featured on Cribs: Road Edition and maybe your road… isn’t. Maybe you deal with other people’s trash for a living or maybe you own 28 three-piece suits and look over the skyline of some lovely, yet incredibly concrete, ‘Big Apple’ kinda city. Whatever your case, may you remember, or be told for the first time, that you ARE worthy and good and extraordinary. Always more, never less.

The truth is, the world doesn’t know what success is. We can’t. We don’t see the big picture. All we see is the superficial, outward works of life i.e. fame, fortune, fashion, and all that other stuff. For the most part, our eyes don’t see the things that matter. It’s like the wheat and the weeds in Matthew 13. We don’t know which is which. So… 

May each of us live life the best we can. May each of us fight to redefine success in the minds of those around us, looking others in the eye and telling them that they matter. May each of us realize that success is about doing something you love for the sake of a Higher Name, and may each of us pray that in the end we will hear, “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” Hearing that, my friend, is success.

Yard Work

Jesus tells this cool story. It’s about a landowner who has this huge field of wheat. One night some ‘enemy’ comes in and plants weeds among all the wheat [maybe the same guys that make all those crop circles and blame it on aliens and then Mel Gibson stars in a movie about it]. So, as you can imagine, soon enough everybody realizes that the wheat is polluted with these weeds. Now the servants, as dutiful and helpful as they can be, offer to go into the field and pluck up every last one of the weeds; but the landowner is like, “No way! Don’t go butchering up my field! You’ll pull all the good stuff up with the weeds and then my crop will really be a trainwreck! Wait ‘til the reapers [not to be confused with Mr. Grim] get here cuz they know a lot more about this stuff than you do.”

I think about this story, a parable as it is often called, a lot because here’s the thing… I think I’m a pretty good servant. I mean, honestly, when it comes to serving steak fries, bottomless beverages, and God I don’t think I’m all that shabby. Of course everybody needs improvement; but I try hard, and I believe that God appreciates the effort of my heart above all else.

But sometimes I get confused, ya know? Sometimes, in the midst of my dutiful servant hood, I forget my place. I get overly helpful. I jump the gun for God. For instance, sometimes I look out across this big field of a world, go ahead and size up the people I meet, and mentally categorize them as ‘wheat’ or ‘weed’. I would say the majority of this is unconscious, and I would also say it’s the ‘judging’ aspect of life that Jesus warns so harshly against. “Do not judge lest you be judged… Pull the plank out of your own eye before you pluck the speck out of your brother’s [or sister’s or cousin’s or annoying co-workers’] eye.”

I don’t really know when ‘judging others’ began; though I would venture to guess it was around the time that these living beings with opposable thumbs called ‘humans’ started roaming the earth in the middle of a very pretty garden. Ever since then, it’s been hard to remember that we’re not the reapers – we’re not the ones to decide the good from the bad, the clean from the unclean, the salvageable from the lost cause. We, not just people who claim to follow Jesus’ teachings but the entire human race, are not the ones who get to decide how good, or successful, or worthy, or ‘saved’ somebody is – though we try. Good thing, because imagine how embarrassed we would be when we throw out all these ‘weeds’ and our Landowner is like, “Um, put down my wheat, dude. I love that wheat and here you are just casting it aside like it’s worthless.”

I worked at a restaurant several years ago with this guy I’ll call Jeff. Jeff would bring in weed magazines. Not magazines about horticulture. Magazines about marijuana i.e. weed, pot, mary jane, or whatever you young kids call it these days. Jeff loved weed and, in a lot of ways in my opinion, Jeff WAS one. Jeff was a frustrating, lazy, high-all-the-time, unreliable weed to me – a weed whose motto was, “God created weed. God called everything ‘good’. Therefore, weed is good.” [Thank you, Logic. God called poison ivy ‘good’ as well. “Good for what purpose?” should be the question.]

One day Jeff said that he had started reading the bible while he was high – turned to page one and started reading. Soon enough, three other guys at work started going over to Jeff’s house to get high… and read the bible. They would come in with the craziest, most fabulous questions about Abraham and Genesis and parts of the Bible I hadn’t heard since I was in second grade Sunday school. Most bizarre bible study I had ever heard, but it worked for them and it made an impact in the strangest of all ways. I misjudged Jeff. Actually, I judged Jeff and I now believe that all judging is misjudging. I looked at him as a weed when God was growing things in him, and in others around him, all along.

We don’t know who the weeds are. We aren’t the judges. It’s not our job. It is our job to never dismiss anyone. It is our job to love what the world calls ‘unloveable’, because everyone matters. We are called to be ‘servants’ who equip ourselves with the best seeds - seeds of mercy and forgiveness and scandalous grace and crazy love. We are called to be ‘servants’, which means it is our job to simply plant the seeds. Just plant them, maybe water them when you can. God makes them grow. You never know what your seeds are doing, or how long it takes them to grow – but they grow.

We serve a God that says, “I am working in people, in places, that you would never fathom. Places that you would never dare to tread. You just plant those seeds wherever you find yourself - a restaurant, your workplace, a sick person's house, the middle of a war zone, the side of the road.” Seeds can be planted there. I am convinced that one of the ways we could make this world a whole lot better is if we’d look at everyone like they were good wheat and not worry about the rest. Because the truth is that God is the only judge there is, and I think all of us will be mighty surprised at God’s verdict when the time comes. 

May we be impartial, without favoritism, prejudice, or dissension - just like the Creator of us all. And may we recognize that we serve a God who, from the beginning of the world, called all things 'good'.

My Duty

The purpose of this blog is not to inspire people towards better tipping habits; however, I feel it is my duty to servers everywhere that I write the following…

[Again, I promise not to make this rant a habit. Spiritual issues are what I write most… though, just maybe, if we all think hard enough, we might realize that this IS one…]

I make $2.13 an hour… or $2.19. I can never remember which it is for two main reasons. 1. I apparently get my 3s and 9s mixed up. Some off-beat form of dyslexia, I’m sure; and 2. Uncle Sam takes every bit of my paycheck so I never actually SEE my wages per hour. It’s depressing to pick up a bimonthly paycheck for $0.00 so I just leave it in the office and let them shred it at their earliest convenience.

I tell you this not to make you gasp at how little servers are paid [though I think you should]; rather, I tell you this in order to squash the age-old myth that servers make minimum wage. We don’t. Our livelihood, the bread [or fries, I should say] that we are able to buy for our own tables, is solely based on how generous you feel on any given day.

Perhaps this seems very unfair to you. As it should! Imagine if every dollar you earned was based solely on the particular mood or mindset of random people from day to day. You will hear, er read, me say the following phrase again and again... People feel with their money. People think with their money. The majority of people who are having a bad day will not tip as well as usual. The majority of people who are low on cash but can meet their bill with a small tip will not pull out their credit card just to ensure their server a few more bucks. The majority of people will tip servers who are more like them – extroverted if they themselves are extroverted, witty if they themselves are witty, of a similar age or race or ‘hottness’ factor. People feel, think, and judge with their money – this is in no way fair, and most often totally subconscious, but this IS life. God may not be partial but people definitely are.

This is my point. Yes, I’m getting there. I pay my rent with what you leave on the table. If you don’t want all that loose change at the bottom of your purse then what makes you think I do? By eating out, you insert yourself into part of my paycheck. Don’t like it? Don’t think it’s fair? Think that the restaurant should be responsible for their servers’ livelihood? Think that! But also realize that’s not reality. The reality is servers walk an average of 12 miles a day in order to retrieve your honey mustard… and your extra lemons… and your thirteenth sweet tea refill. Ask yourself what your server is doing for you – because most often they are NOT taking smoke-breaks and standing around aimlessly. They are well-aware that their utility bill is coming out of YOUR pocket and they are trying their hardest to make you happy.

[Quick disclaimer: I am not deceiving myself into believing that there exist no really bad servers in the world – servers who never ring in the correct food, are oblivious to the fact that you have been without Dr. Pepper for 17 minutes, and who also seem to disappear for great lengths of time only to be found taking eleven “smoke-breaks” an hour and/or eating fries in the back. I am not discussing these servers. However, I WILL say that my theology where they are concerned is this: Tip them well, for the mere reason that no one else will. Gift them with grace. Trust me, your lack of tip will in no way “teach them a lesson”. Rather, they will always misconstrue it as stinginess and greed on your end rather than poor service on theirs.]

By eating out, you are inserting yourself into someone else’s livelihood. If you’re not willing to pay for your service then there’s a fast-food drive-thru on every corner. Honestly, this isn’t about me trying to convict you of your meager 10% tips. The truth is, we should ALL be convicted because it’s about how we look at people. That person who brings your water “with two lemons, extra ice” is a mother, a father, a daughter, a son, a student. That person is someone who experiences pain and joy. Look them in the face. Remember their name. They are made of the same thing you are, and they deserve to be acknowledged, appreciated, and given the same treatment you would wish for yourself.

May each of us envision ‘eating out’ as an opportunity – a chance to insert ourselves into a stranger’s life and give them a gift of grace if nothing else. We are all connected, and in some way we all rely on one another to survive. May we be people who are generous, understanding, and patient… with our drink refills. And may each of us give, and love, in ways that we want for ourselves. Because in the smallest acts of grace, generosity, and love this world becomes a better place.

The Point

I serve steak fries. I serve bottomless steak fries… 30 hours a week. When I go to bed at night, I dream of steak fries. I’m a server… which often translates into ‘slave’. I’m a firm believer that all valuable lessons in life can be learned by waiting… waiting on tables and/or just simply… waiting. I don’t know where you are in life, and I don’t exactly know where I am – but I DO know we have at least one thing in common. We’re all waiting... for something.

I get it. We’re a goal-oriented society. We graduate from kindergarten, from middle school, from high school, on to college, graduation, marriage, kids, retirement, and eventually death – and through all these things we are trying to achieve… stuff. We have a goal in mind and we subconsciously promise ourselves happiness, fulfillment, and total satisfaction when we reach it. “I’ll be happy [or happiER at least] when I’m… … What? Married? Having kids? In the income bracket of my choosing? Owner of a beach house? Living in Florida? Far away from the in-laws? Retired, playing golf all day?” I mean, what is it? What are you waiting for? You know what it is.

In this lies my conviction. How many hours and days and happy moments do we spend wishing we were ‘there’, at some other point in our lives? How many years, and brain cells, do we burn wishing for ‘that’ particular mile marker in this life journey? It is my goal to redefine 'waiting', because so often our current definition of 'waiting' isn’t really ‘living’, is it? Within this blog is my purpose. May I not take for granted one second… one conversation… one relationship… because what if the point of life is to figure out what to do AS your waiting? What if waiting, and serving in the mundane, ordinary parts of life, IS what life is about?

Just a little bit about me, in case you’re still reading… I have a Bachelors in Psychology and a Masters of Divinity… and I’m an ordained minister in the Baptist tradition… which basically means I can marry you and bury you… legally. Ninety-nine out of 100 people surveyed agree that I should be working in some organized religious institution… i.e. a building with a big room called a sanctuary and pointy architectural designs called steeples. I disagree. I left it all… to feed the hungry and sell fountain drinks to those who thirst… It’s beautiful. 

I don’t know if I’ll ever work in a church again, but of this ONE thing I am absolutely sure: Jesus lives. Would you like fries with that?